


Seeking

by Spliced_Up_Angel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Explicit Language, Mages (Dragon Age), Original Character(s), Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 09:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15385911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spliced_Up_Angel/pseuds/Spliced_Up_Angel
Summary: “Call me knife-ear again, you sodding nug-humping shem’len.”Pre-DAII, Kirkwall, blighted mess of an OC.





	Seeking

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve a bad case of telling not showing due to being behind on fictional writing… please excuse this flaw in this chapter, it will get better as I continue the story and get back into the habit of writing. This is my first time writing for this fandom and writing fanfiction in…months (?). I had ideas about this OC for a while now and based her appearance on my female Levellan Inquisitor, of course with alterations. I’m not the best at creating OC’s so hopefully she won’t turn out too mary-sue-ish. Please let me know if she does.  
> The story starts out in 9:26 Dragon, four years before DAII according to the wiki. I am going to try and follow the Bioware lore, making alterations where I see fit. Please excuse any errors and feel free to point them out as I am very new to this lore and will likely make mistakes.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this. Feel free to pop a review or send me a message -I’m down with chatting.

 

**9:26 Dragon**

The dimmed light of flames flickered around her. The serene feeling as she allowed the loud, potent-smelling tavern fade into the back of her mind. She imagined the gritty ale that ran down her throat was spring water, slowly drowning in deep comfort. She permitted the splintering wood beneath her elbows to sink deep, become silky, as if it faded to nothingness.  The wafting scent became her tranquil, instead of nug-shit and sweat she imagined the airy scent of the waterfalls enter her nostrils. She closed her eyes and took it in, hoping that these remaining minutes would last forever, that she would forget where she was and eventually teleport to where she much rather be.

Alas she was in Kirkwall, a city no better, if anything worse than the muggy air of Redcliff that she yearned to escape. Hope within the tiny elf that being closer to the sea would bring her comfort in its salty glory. Instead, the array of thugs and blood, mixed with the foul stench protruding off the dying men of Lowtown was what she was met with. So, she created a world for herself, if only for a moment, where she was in the paradise she once dreamed of, alone and away from entitled humans and interloping nobles. No longer barred off in an alienage, unable to move up or down because she was born not noble nor impoverished. A regular city elf that left for adventure, to find her true elven roots in the wilderness only to be pushed back into society by her privileged upbringing, unable to embrace the great outdoors. Blinded by her childish dreams and influence from storybooks of the not-so-perfect outside world.  

* * *

 

**9:20 Dragon**

She awoke to the cacophony of pots and pans slamming against each other as it was the day she dreaded more than anything. She was the middle child, but was still expected to marry the Elerval son in hope that his family would kindly extend their wealth to her struggling family. Her poor mother grew desperate after the death of her father, having to raise six growing children without the help of her closest kin. Fenced between the upper and lower class, which wasn’t much for an alienage, she had managed to get by, but alas it was never enough.

It was not as if her mother hadn’t tried to move up. The oblivious woman had sent her eldest sister Raina to work as a servant for the Redcliff castle. Out of desperation Raina remained, enduring Maker knows the endless abuse, but refused to leave as she could send home coins. Her older brothers were off doing labour work and her two younger sisters were focused on the small family business. As the next daughter, she was the only desirable, relying on enchanting runes and translating for foreign elves who happened to find themselves in the alienage.

The noise grew louder as she pressed her pillow over her face. If she slept for the rest of her life, she wouldn’t need to even meet Thalar, to be bedded by a stranger and forced to raise his children into a situation that could only get worse. She groaned into her pillow, wishing her mother would just leave her alone -to let this dreadful day pass and pretend all was well.

“Galadriel!” her mother’s voice shrilled. “Get up! I don’t need you lookin’ like death! You want the Elerval boy to marry you, don’t you?”

 _No_ , Galadriel groaned in her head. She lifted her pillow and brushed her fingers through her long, orange hair.

“Maker, you look like you rolled out of barn!” her mother was always dramatic. She allowed herself to be dragged to the broken mirror that stood in her room. Her mother violently fought with her plethora of tangles and fastened her locks into a tight braid, placing blood lotuses haphazardly throughout the hair. Galadriel refused to look at herself in the mirror. She always hated how she looked. Bug-eyed and freckled, pale skin, unable to reach the cupboards without jumping. She waited as the busy elf worked her magic, throwing makeup on her face, complaining at the difficultly of covering up her barbaric “wood elf” markings, and forcing her in a too-small dress that made her non-existent chest feel like it was going to fall out.

“That dress has been in our families for centuries, buttercup,” her mother would constantly remind her. “It has been passed down from daughter to daughter and has survived four blights.” The woolly fabric clung tightly to her skin and would likely be painful to take off. The once freshly white dress was now a pale yellow, stained with something unwashable. “Today will be wonderful.”

And of course it wasn’t. Thalar, the _dashing polite man_ who would relieve her family of troubles got into a fight with one of the guards. The crowd of rowdy elves edged them on, wanting blood -or any kind of entertainment at all- which only aggravated the guard further.

 She left that day, against the pleas of her mother. Life would be better outside of the alienage, she thought, she would be able to make something of herself one day and eventually help out her helpless mother. The small elf stepped over the fresh corpse of her to-be-betrothed and kissed Redcliff good-bye. She would join the Dalish, live off of the wilds just like in her books. It would be a simple life where she wouldn’t need to hide her magic, possibly meet the true Witch of the Wilds and learn her immortal ways.

Life was more complicated than she thought.

She ended up in the Free Marches.

She ended up in _Kirkwall_.

* * *

 

The deep rumble of a familiar voice caught her attention. It _always_ caught her attention. It was the very reason why she continued going to the Hanged Man rather than go to the several other taverns Kirkwall had to offer- a previous pastime of hers. She could listen to the voice forever. The voice full of enthusiasm and emotion created just as vivid of an image as his novels did, drawing everyone near and far to feast on the delicious tales. She signaled to the bartender for another drink and chewed on the shells of the complimentary nuts. She loathed the thought that she would eventually give in to her desires and direct her full attention to the only voice that mattered in the building. She tried to ignore it, but the blighted thing wouldn’t leave her alone. She rubbed her large eyes with her fingers and sighed, docking her head towards the siren-like voice. Like a ship, she moved in the waves of his enigmatic story.

A small figure -well small compared to the majority of the tavern- stood on a chair in confidence. A broad back faced her as she watched the arms of the sandy-haired dwarf move in all directions, in tune with his saucy tale about a heroic surface dwarf who killed ten drakon single-handedly. She of course knew who this man was. You had to have grown under a rock to not know the accomplished author Varric Tethras, the dwarf who seemingly drew the full attention of a room by recalling one of his tales.

Her attention was drawn away when a drunk human smacked into her, causing the small elf to stumble on her chair. “Blighted knife-ear,” he spat, receiving a glare. It was a tall, dumpy looking human, unshaved and unwashed.

Before he could stumble away, she jumped out of her chair and pushed him against the wall with a thud, grabbing the daggers she kept in her boots. Galadriel smacked the wall beside his head, directing the blades at his throat and the side of his head. “Call me knife-ear again, you sodding nug-humping shem’len,” she growled, pressing her knee between his legs, subtly using magic to help hold him back. Maker, she was not strong enough to hold up a full grown human, but he didn’t need to know that. The elf twirled the dagger closest to his head and grinned hysterically. “Hmmm,” she thought innocently out loud, “what to do, what to do…I know.” She jabbed her dagger into ear cartilage, pinning him to the wall. He wailed at the pain. She kept eye contact as she dragged her other dagger up his cheek, cutting a slim slit in its place. “Perhaps I should shove these knives into your fucking skull and make us twins,” she threatened, “would you like that? Since you seem so interested, you must be _dying_ to know what it’s like.”

The man winced at her threat, closing his eyes in a panic. “N-no please. I-I-I didn’t say nothin’, let me go please.” Tears began to bubble in his eyes. She rolled her eyes and yanked the dagger from the wall.

“Leave. If I see you here again, we’ll see who you’re calling knife-ear, you piece of nug-shit. Now beat it!”

Galadriel grumbled nonsense to herself as she took her place back at the bar, the tavern left unphased as it wasn’t a surprise if patrons got rowdy. The elf flicked her hand at the bartender, initiating a refill. It looked like she’d need a lot more booze to get through the night. She took a long drag from the mug when it was placed on the counter, chugging almost the entire lot. Groaning, she lay her head on the counter, throwing her hand up to indicate she needed a refill. She was too far-gone to enjoy the tale at this point, so she resorted to drowning in as much hooch as she could.

She was brought out of her thoughts by a hand placed on her head, ruffling up her hair. She batted the hand away and looked up at her friend. “Not now, Issy,” she slurred.

“That bad, huh?” the busty human slid in the chair beside. Galadriel wined in response. Isabela was one of the few humans Galadriel could handle. Once she left the alienage, she was forced into co-operating with humans on a daily and dealt with their accusations of being a servant or a victim of their slurs. Issy was different. It helped she wasn’t tough on the eyes, either.  

“Who’re yuh takin home tonight?” she hickuped. Isabela was also notorious for bedding a new person each night, the only reason the elf refused a relationship with the rouge. Nobody would force Isabela to settle down.

“Hmm thinking that one over there,” she purred, pointing at a curvy woman. The elf grunted in response, taking a swing from her newly filled mug. Her friend sighed. “What happened?”

“Ugh, nothing big. Just had a shit day at the office just to come here to be disrespected by a fucking shem- a fucking human,” she muttered.

“You shouldn’t let that shit get to you, hon,” Isabela began twisting her fingers through Galadriel’s hair.

“I know,” she sighed. “I’m just tired. You think I should go back to Redcliff?”

“And leave me all alone with an itch that needs scratching? Why even bring up the suggestion?” Issy joked. “Besides, wasn’t the itch you needed scratched getting out of the alienage? Hell, you lucked out finding a place in Lowtown away from the other elves. Life’s hard, sweetie. Just gotta make the best out of it. How about we find you a lay?”

She groaned in response. “No, Issy. I-I’ll survive.”

“You’re no fun! All you do is sit on that blighted barstool every evening and drown yourself in booze!”

It wasn’t true, but her friend didn’t need to know it. The reason she hated this tavern so much was because she couldn’t stay away from the enigmatic storyteller that somehow shit out a new story every night. It was bad enough that she read his books, but of all the taverns in Lowtown she just needed to go to the Hanged Man. Her attention was automatically drawn like a magnet to the stupid dwarf and it was beginning to become difficult to hide it from her friend. She rubbed her temples in annoyance, deciding she needed to drink something stronger if she was going to get this _thing_ out of her brain.

 She came to when she heard Isabela’s shrill of laughter, an always welcomed noise. She envied how carefree the pirate could be, spending each day as her last. She kept her eyes on her drink, however, hypnotized in the foul stench that would bring her momentary happiness.   

“Hey, Gala,” her friend looked back at her. “Wanna meet my friend? You like reading and other boring shit, right?”

“Boring shit?” her friend laughed. “Rivaini, you’re killing me here!” Her ears pipped up. She recognized that voice. She sighed and looked over at her friend to see the annoying dwarf slouched behind. “And you must be _Knife-Ear_ ,” he smirked, amused at himself. Galadriel blinked in response, trying to piece together what was even going on.

The shriek of Isabela’s laugh brought her back to the conversation. “You saw that, too? Gala’s drunk ass can’t even process what happened two minutes ago!”

Yup, she’d had one too many drinks. The conversation beside her just blended in with the background noise of the bar as the small elf hummed to herself, rocking back and forth until the bartender laid a glass in front of her.

“Sober up,” he grunted. It barely garnered a response as she picked up the glass and began chugging it.

“Is this s-s-some kind of joke? Give me the real sh-shit. Not some sodding piss water!” she slurred, realising the bartender had in fact given her water.

“I don’t want you pukin’ all over my bar again, woman. I’ve gotta cut ya off at some point, no matter how high a fortune I make from ya.” He placed another full glass in front of her.

“Issyyyyyyyy,” she moaned, leaning back on her stool to the extent of almost falling off. “He’s rippin’ me off!”

Her friend turned to her with an amused grin and slowly helped the drunk sit up properly. She brought the glass to her friend’s lips and helped her drink the water. The dwarf just chuckled, clearly enjoying watching the scene unfold.

“Iss-sss-ssssy,” she sputtered over the water. “The racist is laughing at me,” she wined.

“He’s not a racist, darling. He was making fun of you because of the scene you caused earlier.”

“Scene? But nobody noticed…” What was her friend talking about?

“Baby, you were really drunk -not as much as now- and you fell on a man and yelled, ‘knife ear? Who you callin’ knife ear?’, really loudly, attracting the attention of everyone. Then you proceeded to threaten him with forks that fell off the table you took down with you and tried stabbing him in the ear while calling him a _shem’len_.”

Galadriel sniffed, straightening the best that she could. “And you’re making it up. I was a bad ass and cut his face up real bad.”

“Honey, no,” Isabela patted her back as the dwarf was in absolute hysterics.

“That’s not how I remembered it…” she mumbled.

“And that’s why I need you to sober up.” Galadriel blew raspberries, but still listened to her friend. As she sipped her water, she slowly began to sober up- not a feeling she was fond of.

“So I’m guessing your name is Gala?” the dwarf inquired, deciding she calmed down enough.

“Galadriel,” she mumbled.

“Varric Tethras,” he held out his hand for her and she limply held out her own to let him shake it.

“I know,” she mumbled. She was gonna feel this in the morning. She continued to sip her water absentmindedly, praying to Andraste she would be able to get up for work in the morning.

* * *

 

**9:21 Dragon**

A mug filled with an unknown substance was placed in front of her. She groaned and looked into the greying human’s eyes. “What’s this?”

“It should help.”

 

 


End file.
